


This Alone Is The Real Treasure

by leyley09



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: 2018 Winter Olympics, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Fake Marriage, Happy Ending, M/M, Outed via media, Russian Politics
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-09
Updated: 2017-12-09
Packaged: 2019-02-12 13:54:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,871
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12960756
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/leyley09/pseuds/leyley09
Summary: A defiant trip to the Olympics gets Alex outed. The solution is obviously to marry Nicky.Obviously.





	This Alone Is The Real Treasure

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Dellessa](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dellessa/gifts).



> Thank you so much [Dellessa](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Dellessa) for your generous contribution to the [Fic Against Fascism](https://ficagainstfascism.wordpress.com/) fundraiser!! We really appreciate it, and I hope this isn't disappointing. :)
> 
> Prompt- The NHL says they can't participate in the Olympics. Ovechkin goes. Backstrom follows. Things do not go as they plan in any way, shape or form. Ovechkin gets outed during the games, and it just goes down hill from there. What I'd like- A healthy does of politics. An exasperated Backstrom. And a happy resolution. Also Hockey. =D 
> 
> I did the best I could with the word limit I had. A fair number of things got handwaved for plot purposes - I know this isn't how acquiring dual citizenship works, y'all. Just roll with it.

“It’s really very simple, Sasha. We’re getting married.”

  
  


Perhaps we should back up to the sudden leak of a compromising photo of Alexander Ovechkin and an unidentified man, two days before the gold medal game between Russia and Finland.

 

Maybe a little further to the “surprise” announcement that several European countries were making last minute changes to their men’s ice hockey team rosters - most notably Russia adding Alexander Ovechkin and Nikita Kucherov, Sweden adding Erik Karlsson and Nicklas Backstrom, and Finland adding Sebastian Aho and Patrik Laine.

 

How about all the way back to an unremarkable morning in April of 2017 where, in a coffee shop in Toronto, Nicklas Backstrom is reading the official statement from the NHL on the 2018 Winter Olympics to a predictably disgruntled Alexander Ovechkin.

 

****

 

“...proceed with finalizing our 2017-18 regular season schedule without any break to accommodate the Olympic Winter Games. We now consider the matter officially closed."

“Is bullshit.”

“Yeah, it is. But they’ve decided, so we have to deal with it.”

Alex grumbles in Russian while he finishes his croissant, but it’s mostly under his breath so Nicky ignores him. They have more important things to worry about right now -- like getting past Toronto and the first round of the playoffs.

 

****

 

That works for the first round, but sadly not for the second. Again. At that point, worrying about the Olympics is so far from the front of his mind. He’s too busy trying to figure out what went wrong, what has to change, and watching from Sweden as the team splinters into pieces.

Summer passes in a flurry of training and family. He gets a couple of weird texts from Alex, but that’s not really all that out of the ordinary. He assumes that Alex is just planning an Asian vacation - he likes to travel during the offseason - and doesn’t really give it any thought. It’s not like he knows anything about Korea anyway.

 

****

 

“Sasha, what the hell is this?”

“Huh?” Alex shouts from the kitchen.

“Why is there a fucking guidebook for South Korea on your coffee table?”

There’s a clatter of dishes from the kitchen before Alex walks into the living room. “Saw it in store, was curious.”

“Curious.”

“Means wanted to know more.”

“I know what it fucking means.” Nicky glares. “Why are you suddenly curious about South Korea?”

Alex’s shrug as he heads back into the kitchen is so far from convincing that it’s in a different time zone.

“What are you up to?” Nicky yells after him.

He doesn’t get an answer.

 

****

 

The truth comes out on a flight to Tampa. Nicky’s been up in the front of the plane discussing with Djoos the best ways to recreate Swedish Christmas in D.C. When he heads towards the back where Alex is holding down half of their usual pair of seats, he’s not completely surprised to see him frowning at an iPad. A tangled set of earbuds must muffle Nicky’s approach because Alex doesn’t even look up as he gets closer.

Instead of game tape or one of his favorite Russian dramas, Alex is watching YouTube videos. It takes a minute before Nicky figures out what he’s actually watching - a Korean language video for beginners.

He likes to think of himself as a polite person, most of the time (on-ice time never included), but he yanks one of the earbuds free and hisses at Alex: “what the fuck are you doing?”

Alex stares at him, wide-eyed and scrambling for a believable excuse. “Nicky, I-- I--” He gives up before he finds one. His shoulders slump, and he gestures at the empty seat. “Sit down, I tell you everything.”

Nicky sits, arms crossed as Alex explains the plan to sneak away during their California road trip, flying out of Los Angeles to Seoul to rendezvous with the Russian Olympic team just days before the ice hockey tournament starts.

“You’re going to sneak away from the team?”

“Not exactly.” Alex looks like he’s bracing himself. “Management, coaches know. Just not telling rest of team.”

Nicky slugs him in the thigh. “Not acceptable.”

“Don’t want any of you have to lie for me. This way, everyone says ‘we had no idea’ so no one but me gets in trouble.”

“That’s so stupid.”

“What?”

“You think we wouldn’t lie for you?”

“Doesn’t matter if you would, shouldn’t have to.”

Nicky glares at him, foot tapping against the fuselage. Alex makes like he’s going to go back to his Korean lessons, like this conversation is over.

“I’m coming with you.”

“No!” Alex slams his iPad onto the tray in front of him. “You stay here, keep children in line.”

Nicky can’t contain his snort of disagreement. “Yeah, no, if you think you’re going sneaking alone, you’re crazy.”

“Nicky, please.” Alex leans in, too close, too intimate. His hand hovers over Nicky’s knee, close enough to raise goosebumps even through suit pants. “Can’t drag you down with me.”

Nicky leans in himself, so only Alex will hear him. “Try and stop me, Sasha.”

 

****

 

It’s no effort at all to email his agent the next morning and ask him to quietly find out if the Swedish Olympic team would welcome him. Since it’s much later in Sweden, the answer comes before they’ve finished their morning skate.

“ _Ja absolut._ ” 

He eats lunch in his hotel room, on the phone with his agent. By the time they’ve finished, Nicky feels like he’s accidentally stepped into one of the spy films Alex loves so much. They have a code so there are no more emails about the Olympics going back and forth. He’s supposed to find out which flight Alex is taking so they can be on the same one (he insisted).

Arrangements are made fairly quickly, and before he knows it he’s following Alex through the international terminal at LAX.

The flight is long. Alex sleeps through most of it. Nicky wishes he could.

They’re met at the airport in Seoul by team representatives who make an attempt to separate them. Alex acts like he doesn’t notice; Nicky glares at both of them indiscriminately until they give up. He knows they’re more noticeable together, but he’s not sure he trusts this guy to get Alex to the right place without trouble.

Two and a half hours later, he’s watching Alex be herded away towards the Russian team residence. It feels very weird to not follow.

 

****

 

On his first morning in Korea, Nicky is woken by very annoying knocking. Erik, across the room, pulls a pillow over his head with a groan. Fine then, apparently Nicky’s going to answer that.

He is less than surprised to find Alex on the other side, beaming grin firmly in place.

“Morning, Nicky! Breakfast?”

Erik swears loudly in Swedish from under his pillow.

“Sasha, how can you be this loud this early?”

“I’m very excited! Who’s that?”

“Erik. Let me get dressed, and I’ll meet you downstairs.” He tries to shut the door, but Alex sticks his foot in the way.

“I can wait here.”

“No, I don’t think you can. Not unless you want Erik to kill you.”

Erik makes a noise that sounds almost like a growl.

“I’ll meet you downstairs, Sasha.”

 

****

 

All of the dining halls are “neutral ground” in the Olympic Village, meant to foster the spirit of friendship and cooperation that is the main purpose of the Olympics. They collect some breakfast and find an out-of-the-way table.

“So.” Nicky pauses to blow on his tea. “Why did you want to have breakfast?”

“Last time before you the enemy,” Alex says through a mouthful of toast.

“Ha ha.” The eye roll is just understood by this point.

“Serious though. Probably won’t see you, too busy with team stuff. I want to say thank you. Didn’t have to come with me, probably going to have trouble, but you came anyway.”

Nicky does roll his eyes at that in an attempt to counter the blush he can feel spreading across his face. “Well, you’re welcome, I guess.”

They eat the rest of their breakfast in silence; they spent 13 hours on a plane together yesterday. There’s really not much left to say.

Outside the dining hall, Alex swamps him in a hug he’s got no hopes of getting away from. “Gonna miss you, Nicky.”

“You aren’t going off to war,” Nicky says into a mouthful of Alex’s coat.

Alex steps away just enough to see his face. “No? Tell me how you feel when we play each other.” He tugs Nicky’s beanie down over his face.

“Sasha!” Nicky swats at him blindly. “Don’t be an asshole.”

Tugging his hat up, he gets just a flash of a very fond smile before he blinks and it’s gone.

“Good luck, Nicky.”

“You too, Sasha.”

He only gets a handful of steps away before he gets pelted in the back with a snowball. Alex’s cackling isn’t particularly subtle.

“Keep your head up, #19, I’m comin’ for you!”

“Keep dreaming, #8!”

The echoes of Alex’s laughter follow him around the rest of the day.

 

****

 

In the busyness of the actual tournament, Nicky loses sight of the outcry back in the States. He’s too busy trying to get his team past Finland, Norway, and Germany. He knows Alex is doing the same, though it’s the last game of the group play before he gets to see for himself.

Russia is playing Slovenia, two minutes into the second period when Nicky slips into a seat in the upper deck. It’s maybe not the best view ever, but he’s been in press boxes with worse views.

The score is 3-1, Russia. Shestyorkin has been a brick wall in this tournament so far, and today’s game seems to be no different. The Russian players are faster than the Slovenians. Their passes are crisp and right on point. As an “elite” passer himself, Nicky can’t help but be impressed. This team flows in beautiful sync with each other, like they’re all connected by one huge mind.

Even from this distance, it’s easy to spot Alex. Nicky’s spent years looking for that shape, that stride in his peripheral vision. Even from this distance, he’s certain he would recognize Alex even without his number.

Alex skates right through one of the Slovenian forwards like the guy isn’t even there. It’s a clean hit - Alex rarely plays dirty on purpose - so play continues, but the guy is slow to get up. Considering he’s just been run over by a freight train, it’s understandable.

Fourteen minutes into the period, Slovenia gets called for a tripping penalty. As expected, Alex is on the first power play unit. Again, the team works just shy of perfectly, cycling the puck to stay in the zone while waiting for a decent shot to open up. It really doesn’t take that long - only 34 seconds into the power play, Alex scores from the left circle off a fantastic pass from one of the defensemen. Nicky has no idea how that continues to work. It feels like every hockey player in the world should know to keep Alex out of that spot, but somehow he still ends up there.

The period ends 4-1, Russia. Nicky wishes he could stay for the rest of the game, but he has a schedule too. He watches the teams file off the ice, through the benches towards the locker rooms and wishes there was some way for him to let Alex know he was here.

Then, just before he leaves the ice, Alex looks right at him. It’s too far to the ice to make out faces in either direction, but --. He’s got a hand up in acknowledgment without planning it, and he doesn’t think he’s imagining either Alex’s nod or the smile as he turns towards the bench.

 

****

 

The day Russia makes it to the gold medal game, a relatively unknown blog posts a set of pictures it claims are from an ‘extremely reliable’ league source. There’s nothing explicit about the photos, though it’s clear the subjects have no idea they’re being photographed. But there’s just something about the way they are together - the body language, the facial expressions, _something_ \- that strongly implies these two people are not “just friends”.

No one seems to recognize one of them; the blog claims to have no idea of his identity.

 

The other is Alexander Ovechkin.

 

****

 

Nicky doesn’t hear about it from Alex. He hears about it from one of the equipment staff as they’re suiting up for practice. He tries to put it out of his mind while they’re practicing but doesn’t really succeed. He takes the fastest shower of his career and ducks his media time outright when Alex doesn’t respond to his texts.

Alex isn’t in his room in the Russian hockey suite, he isn’t in the dining hall, he’s not in any of the very comfortable lounge areas that Nicky knows the location of. He’s standing out in the snow in the middle of the Village when it hits him.

The practice rink that’s furthest from the village, furthest from the main arenas, the one that’s most inconvenient to get to - that’s where he finds Alex, skating alone in the near dark since only the security lighting is actually on.

He makes his way to the bench and waits while Alex skates a few more loops around the ice. The skritch-skritch of skates on ice is one of the most calming sounds in Nicky’s world. He closes his eyes and breathes in the smell of cold.  

“ _Dobroye utro_ , Nicky.” There’s no cheer in Alex’s voice, none of the energy or spirit that he’s come to expect.

“Sasha.”

“You need something?”

Nicky just looks at him until he looks back. “Need to make sure you’re okay.”

Alex shrugs and sits down next to him.

“That doesn’t tell me much.”

Their breathing’s the only sound in the rink besides the hum of the lights.

“Mama says news is not good at home. Not sure what’s gonna happen. Maybe not let me play tomorrow.”

“That’s fucking bullshit.”

“Smallest problem. Not sure if I can go home at all.”

What do you even say to that? Nicky’s not an expert on Russian law; it’s not his country, so he doesn’t really know anything more than what he occasionally hears on the news. Sweden’s allowed gay marriage for years; in Russia, even mentioning the idea seems to put people at risk of prosecution. But there’s a difference between being an average citizen and being Alexander Ovechkin. He might not have been in Russia for long during the last lock out, but he was there long enough to notice that. Having money and fame is an advantage in any country, but it’s a huge difference in Russia. So if Alex, with all his family connections, wealth, and notoriety is scared to go home…. It must really be bad.

He doesn’t get a lot of opportunities to protect Alex from things. Alex fights his own fights (and most of Nicky’s, to be fair), and there’s only so much he can do to protect Alex from media criticism (though he does try, dammit). He wants very badly to protect Alex from this, to make sure he plays tomorrow and wins that fucking medal that he wants so badly for himself, for his team, for his country. A country that might not want him any more just because at least once he smiled “wrong” at the wrong person.

He settles for leaning against Alex and saying nothing at all.

 

****

 

Alex gets to play. It seems the possibility of a gold medal is worth overlooking some scandalous behavior. He plays like a miracle from the hockey gods. Sitting with his own team in the stands, even Nicky is amazed. Alex is delightful to watch on a normal day; today he’s breathtaking.

Nicky’s not completely thrilled with his bronze medal; they’d hoped to do better than last time, but a medal’s a medal. However, sitting here, watching his best friend essentially win a gold medal all by himself, he’s glad for the first time that he’s not playing in this game. He wants to tell his future children about every pass, every shot, every hit.

When the final buzzer sounds and Russia has won 6-2, he feels like the first one on his feet cheering, whistling, applauding till his hands hurt. He stays through the whole medal ceremony, taking a ridiculous number of photos. He’s the only Swede left in the stands by the time the teams are ready to leave the ice. He’s a bright spot of yellow against the dark blue seats, and this time he’s close enough that he can tell when Alex spots him.

He can’t hear what Alex is yelling over all the other noise in the arena, so he waves his phone at him and then gestures back towards the rest of the team.

He sends possibly the sappiest text message he’s ever sent someone he wasn’t dating:

**_Congratulations Sasha. You deserve this. I’m so so proud of you._ **

 

****

 

_[Excerpt from article by Darren Dreger]_

 

_Despite the Olympics ban set down by the NHL last April, several of the NHL’s biggest names participated in the Olympics. Today, we all found out what the consequences of that choice are going to be._

 

_Gold medal winners Alexander Ovechkin and Nikita Kucherov, silver medal winners Patrik Laine and Sebastian Aho, and bronze medal winners Erik Karlsson and Nicklas Backstrom will all be suspended for 10 games._

 

_There is no set consequence listed for such an outright disregard for NHL policy because nothing like this has ever happened before. That will no doubt change during the next CBA negotiations. Commissioner Bettman advocated for a stronger penalty, but the assembled committee felt 10 games was sufficient._

 

_None of the suspended players were available for comment at the time of publication._

 

****

 

Being suspended really, **really** sucks. It’s never happened to Nicky before, but of course he can’t start small with a couple of games like a normal person. No, he’s got to get a history-making suspension.

He’s never been this bored in his entire life.

He gets to practice with the team, at least, so that’s something. But he can’t travel on road trips, and he’s not a fan of sitting in the press box watching home games.

The time is not improved by his house being repeatedly invaded by an equally antsy Alexander Ovechkin.

He shouldn’t complain, really. Alex isn’t just antsy with boredom. He still hasn’t gotten an official response to his scandal. One would think winning a gold medal at the Olympics -- particularly after the way the last Olympics went -- would have smoothed over a lot of ruffled feathers. That doesn’t seem to have been the case.

Nicky’s comprehension of Russian is confined to a few basic pleasantries, some hockey terms, and a disproportionate number of swear words. But the pictures accompanying the few Russian news articles he’s looked up do not look encouraging.

Alex refuses to talk about it - not the stress of his situation, not the fact that he’s kept this a secret from Nicky for all the years they’ve known each other despite knowing that Nicky also (apparently) doesn’t gender discriminate in the people he dates (even if he’s clearly better at not getting photographed than Alex). It leaves them very little to talk about in the interminable hours of inactivity.

He’s currently sprawled across his couch watching a replay of one of last night’s west coast games when he hears a key turning in his front door. There are two people in Washington with keys to his house: Alex and Andre. Since Andre is currently on a plane to Ottawa……

“ _Hej,_ Sasha.”

There’s no reply, which is a little odd. Alex is usually talking before the door opens. When he pulls himself up enough to see over the back of the couch, Alex looks….devastated.

Nicky has never seen him look this broken.

“Sasha?”

“Nicky--” is all Alex gets out before he just gives up and slides to the floor, back against the door.

Nicky scrambles off the couch, clearing most of the stuff off the top of his coffee table in his haste. He drops to his knees next to Alex, grasping at his arms. “Sasha, are you okay?”

“I- I- Nicky.” He’s practically hyperventilating.

“Breathe for me, Sasha, slower, slower, that’s it.” He rubs Alex’s arms in the rhythm that he wants him to breathe. It takes a few minutes before it works, but eventually Alex is breathing regularly enough to talk.

“Mama called. I- I can’t come home.”

 

****

 

While Nicky’s been wallowing on the couch watching too much Food Network, more pictures of Alex showed up online. This time, there is no plausible ambiguity about these pictures. That is definitely Alex, and he is _definitely_ kissing this guy. Nicky shoves aside a flash of something he’s not even going to acknowledge, let alone identify, and slips his phone back into his pocket. The tea is still steeping, but he doesn’t want to leave Alex alone any longer.

He sets the mugs on the coffee table, then pulls spoons, sweetener packets, a small jar of Tatyana Ovechkina’s homemade jam, and a saucer from the pocket on his sweatshirt.

Alex snorts at him, which is frankly a better reaction than he was expecting. “You need tray, Nicky, is not that expensive.”

“Shut up and drink your tea.”

They drink in silence for a few minutes, but Nicky’s reached the end of his patience and waiting for Alex to volunteer information.

“So I know those pictures are bad, but is it really ‘you’re not allowed back into the country’ bad?”

“Mama thinks so. No official statement, but not sound good. Here, I’m okay, but there? Who knows.”

He can’t even fathom the idea of not being allowed back into Sweden. Of course, Sweden would never send someone to jail for kissing someone of the same gender, so--

He might be having an idea.

“Sasha, where were those photos taken?”

Alex frowns at him. “Here, of course.”

He nods. “So not on Russian soil.”

“Noooo.”

“Do they prosecute foreign citizens for things done outside of Russia?”

“Not impossible.”

Nicky shrugs his acknowledgment of that valid point. “But it would be a lot more of a mess, there would be more backlash, probably, yes?”

Alex shrugs back and continues to look confused. “You planning a trip to Russia soon, Nicky?”

“Not necessarily.”

“Then what is point?”

“It’s really very simple, Sasha. We’re getting married.”

 

****

 

Once Alex stopped laughing, he explained his reasoning. If they were married, Alex could become a Swedish citizen, which would make prosecuting him for something he did several years ago in another country even more of an international scandal.

“Nicky.” Alex is not taking this seriously. “Won’t people wonder why now? We know each other long time.”

“Well, we were trying to keep our love a secret, because of Russia. But then these pictures happened, and everyone knows anyway. So we figured ‘fuck it’ and got married.”

Alex blinks several times. “Nicky, you don’t want to marry me.”

“It’s not like I want to be married to anyone else.” He puts on his most serious face. “We know we get along, we can share a space without killing each other. We can occupy the same house for a while. And we don’t have to be married forever. People get divorced all the time, so maybe in a few years we do that.” Then he pulls out his secret weapon - his sad eyes. “Is being married to me really that awful of an idea?”

Alex looks briefly horrified at the thought that he might have hurt his feelings before narrowing his eyes. “Now you fucking with me.”

Nicky cracks a smile. “Just a little.”

“Weirdo.” Alex rolls his eyes.

“Like you can talk.” Nicky reaches over to put a hand on Alex’s arm. “At least let me ask some people if it would help, okay?”

“Fine.”

 

****

 

“Technically, you’re probably right,” his lawyer says two days later. “Becoming a foreign citizen would probably make it less likely for him to prosecuted, and probably not imprisoned if they did. HOWEVER--” he talks over top of Nicky “--no one can guarantee anything about Russia, I know you know this. So what are you thinking?”

“I am thinking that Alex needs help, and I am in a position to help him. So what do we need to do?”

 

****

 

Turns out it’s surprisingly simple. There are some forms to fill out, and they’ll need to submit documentary proof of their marriage. It would normally take some considerable time for this, but Nicky’s lawyer knows some people in the right places and assures him that if they get married at the embassy within the next 10 days, Alex will be in possession of a valid Swedish passport before he leaves Washington for the summer, regardless of how their season goes. All Nicky needs to do is convince Alex to say yes.

He’s been thinking about how to convince Alex for what feels like a solid 48 hours. He could try logic again, but -- logic isn’t always the way to convince him of anything. Alex is a “feeler”.

So he asks Alex to dinner, and then spends the day running around half crazed, trying to accomplish everything he has on his list.

He could have scrambled for a reservation at a fancy restaurant with a gorgeous view, but frankly, that’s just not them. The minute he tells Alex he has to dress up, Alex will get very suspicious, and the whole thing will go down the drain. Instead, he hopes there will be a table free at their favorite hole-in-the-wall Italian place and goes to buy a ring instead.

He chooses a stainless steel band set with a beautiful, flashing ruby and eight sparkling diamonds. It’s a little bit ridiculous, but so is Alex.

He makes a few more stops on his way home - once for champagne and the rest for more flowers than he’s ever bought at once in his whole life. The champagne goes into the wine cooler to chill, but he doesn’t really know what to do with all the flowers. If he and Alex were actually dating, he’d probably put most of them in the bedroom, but that’s not what this is. They’re more likely to “celebrate” their engagement by critiquing whichever west coast game they turn on than by having sex. The flowers end up sitting on every flat surface on the first floor of his house.

When he picks Alex up for dinner, he looks completely unsuspecting. He climbs into the car already talking about a play he wants to try when they’re back on the ice with the team next week. Nicky just nods, like he’s paying attention, and resumes internally panicking about how and when he’s going to do this.

The restaurant isn’t big enough to allow for any sort of conversational privacy, so looks like he’ll be waiting until after dinner.

He means to start the conversation in the car, but, well, he can’t. He tries twice before he works up the nerve, just as he’s turning onto his street.

“So you remember the other day I said I was going to talk to some people about if having another citizenship would help you?”

“Yes,” Alex replies, suspiciously.

“Well, my lawyer said it probably would. And I want to help you, Sasha. I- Look, the only thing you ever let me do for you is set you up to score. You do so much for me, and I never get to return the favor.”

“Nicky, I--”

“I know you’re worried about it being weird, about people being difficult, about me suffering because of this, but Sasha, I _want_ to do that for you. I know that there’s going to be a lot of press. I know it’s going to be invasive and unpleasant and that I’m probably going to hate it. I know there will be people who will be assholes about it. I know all these things, and I’m volunteering anyway, Sasha.”

Neither of them says anything as he parks the car in the garage, as they step into the kitchen. There’s barely any noise at all until he flips on the light.

The kitchen, having the most flat surfaces, is exploding with color: delicate blue freesias, vibrant red gerbera daisies, elegant white lilies, blushing pink hydrangeas, roses and tulips in a rainbow of colors. Alex sucks in a noisy breath, turning to him in shock.

Overwhelmed by the moment, Nicky drops to one knee. “Alexander Mikhailovich Ovechkin, will you marry me?” He pulls the ring from his trouser pocket and holds it up hopefully.

Alex just gapes at him. The silence drags on.

His knee’s starting to hurt.

“Sasha?” If he doesn’t get an answer in like 10 seconds, he’s standing up before his knee gets a permanent bruise.

Just as he’s about to say “fuck it” and get up, Alex reaches out with a shaking hand and runs one finger across the surface of the ring. “Nicky--” he breathes out, barely loud enough to be heard.

“Sasha.”

“You serious.”

“Completely.”

“Going to be fucking mess.”

Nicky smiles and nods, not that it matters -- Alex hasn’t taken his eyes off the ring yet. “You’re worth the mess.”

That finally gets him some eye contact.

Alex stares at him for another heartbeat or three before he lets out a shuddery breath and nods. “Okay, Nicky. You want me, you can have.”

He holds out his right hand for Nicky to slide the ring onto the ring finger. Nicky had just guessed earlier about the sizing, looking at his own hands and trying to judge how much bigger Alex’s are. The ring slides right on like it was made for Alex.

He stands back up, shaking out his leg a little, and tries not to laugh at Alex staring at his hand like he’d suddenly grown an extra finger. “Champagne to celebrate?”

 

****

 

They polish off both bottles of champagne because why the hell not. It’s not every day either of them gets engaged; they’ll just have to deal with the extra calories tomorrow. Alex is never as tipsy as Nicky, his tolerance built up by years of exposure to Russian vodka. He maybe gets a little more smiley, a little louder, but it’s not nearly as noticeable as when Nicky’s drinking. He turns all kinds of red, and everything in the world is funny.

He doesn’t even know what they’ve turned on to watch, but it is the funniest thing he thinks he’s ever seen. Every time he laughs, he slumps a little further into Alex who is warm and solid next to him, which is good because Nicky currently feels like he’s made of jello.

By the time whatever-it’s-called is done, he’s tipped completely over with his head on Alex’s leg. He’s not sure when Alex started playing with his hair, but it feels nice, so he’s not going to stop him.

Alex stops himself. “Okay, Nicky, time for sleeping.”

“Hmm, what?”

“Practice tomorrow, bedtime.”

Ugh, practice. “Fine.” He sighs disgustedly but sits up. The room doesn’t spin so much as just shift wildly back and forth. “Shit, what was in that champagne?”

“Mostly you. Think you drank second bottle alone.” Alex pulls him slowly to his feet, waiting until he’s got something like balance before moving him in the direction of the stairs.

“Don’t let me do that again, okay?”

“Sure, Nicky, no more bottles of champagne.” Alex is probably laughing at him, but that’s okay. Married people are allowed to laugh at each other.

Next to the door to his room, Alex props him up against the wall so he can look into his face. “You need help, or you good?”

The hall isn’t moving around nearly as bad as the living room so he thinks he can manage to brush his teeth and take his clothes off without dying. “I’m good. Are you staying here? Guest room is clean.”

Alex smiles. “Guess I stay then.”

“Okay,” Nicky beams at him. He fists a hand in Alex’s shirt and drags him in closer. Alex makes a shocked noise when he kisses him, but he doesn’t pull away either. He tastes like champagne and the cannoli they split for dessert, fucking delicious. When Nicky finally moves away so he can breathe, he looks the best kind of disheveled, braced against the wall to either side of Nicky like he thought he might crush him.

“Good night, Sasha!” Nicky giggles and trips through the door into his own room.

 

****

 

His alarm the next morning makes his head feel like it is cracking open. Fortunately, he’s not nauseous - that’s the worst. This horrible hangover can be dealt with through copious amounts of water and caffeine and an acceptable amount of painkillers. He is glad he remembered to brush his teeth before he passed out; at least his mouth doesn’t taste like old socks.

He’s just getting dressed post-shower when there’s a hesitant knock on the bedroom door.

“Nicky, you want tea?”

Alexander Ovechkin is a blessing. “So much tea, please!”

He makes it to the kitchen just as Alex is pulling the steeped tea bags out of their mugs. There’s a plate of toast and a jar of peanut butter already on the island.

“Morning,” Nicky says, mostly to the toast. “Thank you for making breakfast.”

He looks up when there’s no response. Alex looks a little confused, two fingers of his right hand against his lips. His ring sparkles in the fluorescent lights.

“Nicky, you remember last night?”

Nicky frowns. “Dinner. We came back here, I asked you a very important question --” he gestures at the florist’s worth of flowers in his kitchen “-- you said yes, and there was a lot of champagne. Why?”

Alex’s face transitions through a lot of emotions very quickly. Nicky thinks the last one is disappointment before they’re all wiped away into a polite neutral. “No reason. Just making sure.”

“Uh huh.”

Toast pops up from the toaster, startling Nicky as it always does. Alex is halfway through spreading jam on his before he speaks again. “So you have plan for wedding?”

“Actually, yes. You don’t have anything scheduled tomorrow afternoon, right?”

“Tomorrow?!”

“Yeah. They can see us at the embassy tomorrow, I think the appointment is at 3.”

“That soon?”

Nicky doesn’t know what to make of that tone. “The sooner we do it, the sooner you’ll get your paperwork. I know it’s not, it’s not _romantic_ or whatever, but--”

Alex is clearly fascinated with his toast. “No, is fine. You right, paperwork means I go home sooner.”

“Exactly.”

The silence feels awkward all of a sudden, like silences have never felt between them, not even when they barely spoke a common language. He wishes he knew what he’d done wrong.

There’s a distant honk at the same time that Alex’s phone chimes next to him. “Got to go, Uber here.”

“Where are you going? Why not just ride to practice with me?”

“Need to go home for some things. See you at practice, Nicky.” Alex abandons his toast half-eaten and disappears out the front door before Nicky can even respond.

 

****

 

Their wedding is… not particularly interesting, to be quite honest. After practice, he lets Alex drive them to the embassy - normally, he wouldn’t because Alex’s driving terrifies him, but it seems like the least he can do.

They have an appointment, so they’re ushered through to a nondescript room that looks like every corporate conference room he’s ever seen. There are three people waiting for them - a dignified older woman and two younger people.

The older woman gestures them towards a couple of the chairs at the table. “Please, sit. My name is Anna, and I will be officiating. This is Julia and Axel; they will be your witnesses.”

“Thank you,” Alex says politely.

“Before we start, there’s some paperwork that needs to be completed.” Anna passes them each a stack of paper and a pen.

For several minutes, the only sound in the room is the scratching as they complete the forms. Alex finishes first, which is no surprise; Nicky hopes his handwriting is legible.

Paperwork completed, she leads them through the basic ceremony. It takes less than ten minutes.

Alex must have gone ring shopping at some point yesterday. As Anna signs their marriage certificate, he hands Nicky a solid rose gold band - no jewels, no inscriptions, just a deep shine that looks suspiciously like his hair when he hasn’t spent enough time outdoors.

Before they leave, Anna hands him a thick packet. “This is the citizenship application. Please let us know if you or your husband have any questions about what’s required.”

And that, that’s going to take a lot of getting used to.

 

****

 

It’s a quiet walk back to the car. Almost too quiet. Alex may not talk as constantly as everyone would suspect, but he’s been suspiciously silent this afternoon. Enough so that it’s starting to rattle Nicky, make him anxious, until he can’t take it anymore.

“I feel like we should be celebrating or something.”

“Think we did that already.”

That’s a good point. He doesn’t need another hangover this week.

“It just feels sort of…. anticlimactic, I guess. We talked to a woman and signed a paper, and that’s it - we’re married. Just feels like there should be more.”

“Usually is - big fancy event, everyone you know, tuxedos and flowers, lots of pictures…” Alex gets two steps past him before he realizes that Nicky’s stopped walking. “What are you doing?”

“Come here, take a picture with me.”

“What?”

“We don’t have time for the big fancy event, but we can at least have a photo of us on the day we got married.”

It’s not a professional photo, that’s for sure, but both of their faces are visible, so it could be worse. Nicky even looks happy - he’s usually got to be a few drinks in to look like that in a photo. Alex looks quietly pleased, which Nicky actually prefers. This is photo he’ll be happy to show people.

Eventually.

 

****

 

The next day is the last day of their suspension. They walk into practice together - Alex picked him up on the way - which is not that out of the ordinary. The locker room remains the chaotic mess that it always is -- people yelling over each other and whatever horrible music someone’s chosen, trainers and equipment staff bustling in and out, the occasional sounds of tape ripping and sticks falling over.

Alex goes to take over the music selection, as per usual, and Nicky heads to his stall to change. He’s tugging on his socks when he hears a shout from the other side of the room, where Alex’s stall is.

“The fuck is this?” It’s amazing how almost half of the English Evgeny knows is swear words.

Alex tries to answer quietly, but it’s a wasted effort.

“YOU GOT MARRIED?”

In a movie, on TV, there would have been a painful record-scratch sound to signal the silence the room falls into. Because this is just Nicky’s life, it only happens in his head.

“Who did you marry?” Tom jumps in, since he’s never met a conversation he didn’t want to be a part of. “The only person you’ve seen for the last two weeks is Papa.”

That sentence hangs in the room as slowly, oh-so-slowly, everyone in the room turns to look at Nicky.

He refuses to make eye contact with anyone, but the shiny new ring on his finger gives him away.

“Oh my god,” TJ says from next to him.

“Fucking finally,” Braden says from the goalie corner.

That gets Nicky’s attention. He looks sharply at Braden, then around the room, expecting to see everyone else staring in confusion as well.

No one else looks the slightest bit confused.

In fact, most of them are nodding and laughing.

Well, everyone except Andre.

“I can’t believe you didn’t tell me,” he spits at Nicky from two stalls down.

“We didn’t tell anybody, Andre.”

“I’m not anybody!” he shouts, snatching his helmet and stick and stomping away.

“He’s gonna lose an edge like that,” TJ muses from the other side. He nudges Nicky lightly. “Why didn’t you tell anybody? Did you think we would care?”

This he can handle. He planned for this. “It wasn’t a secret because of you guys. It was a secret because of Russia. But--” hopefully his vague hand gesture will cover all the mess that no one in the locker room has brought up yet. “That doesn’t matter anymore.”

TJ just nods, as if that makes perfect sense.

Which it should.

“Are you going to tell anyone else?”

“Our families, maybe some friends. We haven’t actually talked about making a public announcement.”

“You haven’t told your families yet?”

Oops. “No.”

TJ just looks at him for several seconds, then turns back to lacing up his skates. “Well, congratulations, anyway. And good luck with Burkie.”

Unfortunately for Burkie, he’s not as scary as Nicky’s mother, so… he’ll deal with him.  Some day.

 

****

 

“I’m sorry, you need to repeat that. I thought you said you’d married Alex.”

Older brothers are the worst. He can’t even tell if Kris is being serious or just excessively sarcastic. “I did say I married Alex. Don’t be an asshole.”

Not being an asshole must require Kris to be silent for a while. It’s bordering on uncomfortable before he asks “why?”

“I can’t really explain over the phone.”

He can hear Kris sigh through the phone, can picture the way he’s pinching his nose and wrinkling his forehead in frustration.

“So if you can’t explain over the phone….how are you going to do it? Because Mamma is going to want an explanation.”

“I was sort of hoping you could bring them to visit soon. On me, of course. I can explain in person, and --”

“And…”

“I could use the help moving.”

“I’ll see what I can do.”

 

****

 

He doesn’t know how Kris gets their parents on a plane only a week later. Usually it’s like pulling teeth trying to convince them to let him fly them over. His mother was very emotional on the phone; she’d been hurt that he’d gotten married without telling her, without letting her be there to see it. He’d promised to explain when she visited - maybe that helped. Either way, his guest rooms are currently full of Backstroms sleeping off their jet lag while his kitchen is full of Alex making breakfast.

He shouldn’t have waited until his parents were actually in the house to ask this, but…..

“What do you want me to tell my parents?”

“Hmm?” Alex finishes pouring batter into the waffle iron (that showed up a few days ago from god-only-knows-where) before he looks up. “Tell them about what?”

“I don’t know if I want to tell them the whole truth about our, uh, arrangement. I don’t think they’ll approve. But I will, if you really want me to.”

Alex just blinks at him until the waffle iron beeps. He’s carefully lifting the finished waffle when he answers - “Tell them whatever. You know them best.”

“Okay. I think the same thing we told the team?”

Alex just nods and refills the electric kettle. A moment later, Nicky hears footsteps on the stairs.

His parents have always loved Alex, and his mother is clearly delighted to see him. She is happily chattering away at him while he finishes setting up breakfast. His father, quietly fixing his tea next to Nicky, smiles occasionally at them but, like Nicky, he doesn’t generally talk too much first thing in the morning.

Alex is careful to stay on the other side of the kitchen all through breakfast. To his parents, it probably looks like he’s busy with the waffles or making more tea.

Nicky knows better.

When Kris wanders in a good half an hour later, he looks suspicious from the get go. Every time Alex avoids eye contact with Nicky, Kris’s eyes narrow just a little further.

After breakfast, his mother is clearly done waiting for her explanation. She herds them all through to the living room well before Nicky is ready. Kris gets shoved in the direction of an armchair, Nicky and Alex get shoved a little more nicely to the loveseat, and she takes a seat next to his father on the couch.

“Nicklas, you know we love Alex. We aren’t upset about the marriage or disappointed about your choice. We’d just like to know why you did this so suddenly. And why you didn’t think you could tell us that you were together.”

“It wasn’t a secret just from you, Mamma, it was a secret from everyone. We didn’t want to risk it leaking out and getting Alex in trouble.” Alex puts an arm around his shoulders, squeezing lightly. Nicky puts a hand on his thigh, patting reassuringly and ignoring Kris’s incredulous eyebrows. “But the secret got out anyway. We never thought we’d get this opportunity, so we decided to take advantage. We were going to wait, but then we got news that Alex might not be able to go home this summer. The lawyers said a dual citizenship might let him do that, so we had to hurry in order for the process to be complete in time.”

There’s a moment when he’s not sure they’re going to buy it. Kris, in particular, looks very skeptical. But then his mother brushes away a tear and gets up to hug Alex, crying into his shoulder about always having a home in Sweden.

Alex is tearing up when he finally makes eye contact with Nicky over her shoulder.

 

****

 

“You are so full of shit” is how Kris announces his presence a few hours later.

“I am not,” Nicky defends himself automatically. “About what?”

Kris pushes a half-full box of t-shirts out of his way and sits down on the closet floor next to him. “This story about how you and Alex have been secretly dating for years.”

“Look, we just had to speed things up because of the passport thing--”

“No, no, that part I believe,” Kris gives him a disappointed look. “I think it’s a little fucked up that I believe you married him so he could have Swedish citizenship, but I don’t believe that you’ve been in a secret relationship for years.”

“Why is that so hard to believe?”

“Nicke. I’ve been here. I’ve seen you with Alex, out of the public eye. It’s one thing to lie to us over the phone. You don’t act that well; you’d have slipped up somewhere. And you’ve been complaining to me about being single for years. Even you couldn’t have kept that up for that long. Not with me. ”

Nicky sighs. “Okay, fine, you’re right. We just can’t tell everyone that.”

“Yeah, I understand. We’d like you to stay out of prison for passport fraud.” Kris picks up a shirt from the pile, folding it completely wrong before dropping it into the box by his knee. “What I don’t fully understand is why your solution to ‘Alex is having legal problems’ is marrying him.”

“Who else was going to do it?”

He thinks that’s a fair question. By the look on Kris’s face, it’s an insane question.

“So it has nothing to do with your feelings for Alex?”

“What?!” He chokes a little on either air or his own tongue; he’s not sure. “I don’t have feelings for Alex.”

“Nicke,” Kris just outright frowns at him. “You do remember that we already had both the _I like boys_ and the _I like Alex_ conversations already.”

They most certainly did not. “We’ve never had an _I like Alex_ conversation because that’s never been true.”

“That’s fucking bullshit, Nicklas. Fine, you’ve never uttered the sentence _I have romantic feelings for Alexander Ovechkin_ . But you’ve done everything but in the last ten years. Sometimes I wasn’t sure you had other teammates or friends since Alex was all you’d talk about. And Nicke, _you moved to Russia for him_. That’s not… I wouldn’t move to Russia for my best friend.”

“Just because you wouldn’t doesn’t make that a weird thing to do.”

“Should we take a poll, then, find out how many people you know that _would_ do that? I suspect it’s a shorter list than you’d think.”

“Shut up.” Nicky shoves at his shoulder. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. No one here has any feelings; we’re just married to help keep Alex out of prison.”

“If you say so.”

 

****

 

He’s not bringing everything he’s ever owned to Alex’s. There’s not really time right now, and not really a point. It’s not like he’s going to sell his house. They have enough company between them that it’ll get put to use.

So with mostly his mother’s help, he packs up all his clothes, his favorite books and movies, all the video games that Alex doesn’t already have a copy of, and his favorite mug - the bright pink flamingo one Alex bought to commemorate his hat trick in Tampa - and makes two trips to Alex’s to unload it all.

And then he discovers they have a problem.

When his mother carries a box of clothes into the master bedroom, his first instinct is to argue. That’s not where he stays on the rare occasions that he crashes here. But then his mother asks “which drawers are yours?” and the depth of the issue really hits him.

If he’s been dating Alex for years, even secretly, it would be weird if he didn’t already have a few things here. There’s no way his mother is going to believe that he’s never spent the night in this room.

Kris, standing in the door with a box of his own, just raises a sarcastic eyebrow at him. No help whatsoever. What use are big brothers if they don’t help you lie to your parents about secret relationships?

He pulls open the first drawer his hand lands on - fortunately full of non-player-specific team t-shirts - and says “this one is the only one that’s just mine.” And then he disappears into the ridiculously huge walk-in closet and shifts a bunch of suits over to make room for the his own. (He is absolutely not hiding from his own mother in the closet.)

Between the four of them - Alex had somewhere else he had to be this morning - they get all of his clothes unpacked. He leaves the books and stuff in the foyer because he really has no idea where Alex wants all his shit to go and makes the executive decision that they’ve done enough for one day.

Fortunately for him, his parents have taken Kris and gone back to his house by the time Alex gets home mid-afternoon. He follows Alex upstairs, waiting for a break in his monologue about his interview and photo shoot to ask about the stuff. He’s sort of forgotten that Alex doesn’t know about the clothes until Alex stops talking abruptly when he turns on the light in the closet.

“Uh, my mom kind of started unpacking in here, and I couldn’t tell her that she was wrong without blowing the story we told her the other day, so, um, all my clothes are in here.”

“Oh.”

“I’ll move them when they go home, if it bothers you.”

Alex sighs but squares his shoulders, like he’s preparing for an argument. “No, I think you should leave them.”

“Really?”

“If you want people believe we’re together, then we be together. If we only together in public, gonna forget when we here with just team, family, you know?”

“So you want to act like we really got married because we’re in love, all the time?”

Alex nods.

“You really want me to move into this bedroom and sleep in here and--”

Alex waves his hands to stop him. “Not expecting you to ‘and’,” he laughs awkwardly. “But if people here and see us living in different rooms, they suspect something. Boys on team, maybe not big deal, just think we fight. But my friends, my family from Russia? That’s bad suspect.”

“Okay.”

“Okay?”

“Yeah. I mean, you’re right. People will notice. If we’re gonna do this, we can’t half-ass it.”

“Nicky,” Alex says seriously, “is impossible for us to half-ass.” He turns slightly sideways and looks over his shoulder. “More than enough ass to share.”

Nicky snorts so loudly it almost hurts. If they can still joke about this...maybe they’re going to be okay.

 

****

 

They are not going to be okay.

Two weeks later, he feels like he’s losing his mind. As someone who prides himself on seeing plays several steps in advance, on knowing where people (especially Alex) are going to be before they go there, he’s discovering a severe lack of foresight regarding his own personal life.

Living with Alex is fine, just as he expected. He was concerned there would be some awkwardness once his family went home, but there wasn’t. They know each other’s routines, habits, preferences. They can both order for each other at every takeout place they frequent. They know when to talk, when to be silent, when to be near, when to give space. Alex is hands down the best roommate he could have ever imagined.

It’s the pretending to be married part that is becoming a problem.

Alex keeps...well...touching him. It’s not like Alex didn’t touch him before; Alex has always been handsy as hell. It’s just different now. Instead of a loose arm across his shoulders, now it’s a snug arm around his waist. Alex holds his hand at every opportunity. He sits impossibly closer; any hint of personal space Nicky had left is long gone.

All of that he could probably get used to, given enough time. It’s the kissing that keeps throwing him off.

It’s Tom’s fault, the kissing. Tom thought it would be a good idea to ask him, in front of the whole team at his birthday party, if he had a problem with PDA.

_“Within reason, no.”_

_“You know you don’t have to hide from us anymore, right?” He points at TJ and Lauren across the room; TJ leans in and kisses Lauren quickly before heading towards the bar. “You can do that too, if you want. It won’t bother us.”_

_It’s a nice gesture so far as it goes. He’d thank him and ignore it, but unfortunately, Alex is standing behind him and hears it._

_“Thanks Willy, was waiting for permission.” He spins Nicky around, dips him like an Argentine tango, and kisses him until neither of them can breathe._

_When Nicky can pay attention to the room again, Tom’s making gagging noises over the whistling and cheering. Alex half-bows to the room but fortunately doesn’t let go; Nicky’s not sure his legs would hold him up._

After that, he can barely walk past Alex without being kissed unless they’re working or out in public surrounded by strangers. It’s not that he’s not enjoying it, it’s just….well, he’s enjoying it, and he hadn’t prepared for that.

Sleeping with Alex is even worse.

Alex is warm and cuddly and gravitates to the nearest body. He knew this, in a sense. He’s seen Alex fall asleep before, during parties and on road trips. He inevitably rolls into the nearest person and wraps them up like some kind of solid Russian octopus. He’s been a victim of it on a few occasions. But it’s one thing to have that happen two, three, six times over the course of ten years. It’s another thing entirely to have it happen every day, and to know that when you get up, the person who’d been snuggling with you is going to kiss you before you brush your teeth and then make you breakfast.

That’s a whole level of something that Nicky is not equipped to deal with.

 

****

 

“Still married?”

“Season’s going great, Kris, thanks for asking.”

“Shut up, Nicke, I can look that up whenever. Answer the question.”

“Still married. Everything’s fine.”

“Uh huh.”

Fuck older siblings anyway. He’s not telling Kris anything, no matter how long his disbelieving silence lasts.

  
  
  
  
  


“Okay fine, I’m in love with Alex, and I’m kinda freaking out. Are you happy now?”

 

“What?”

 

“Shit. Kris, gotta go.” He sort of hears Kris’s “Nicky?” in the background as his phone falls to the floor. “When did you get home?” How did he not hear the door? Alex makes noise just breathing, let alone walking into the house.

Alex makes a face that Nicky recognizes as one of his own that means “are you serious?” which, okay, fair enough. That’s not really the important point.

“Why you don’t say something?”

“I, uh-- didn’t think it was important?”

Alex comes around the end of the couch to loom over him. “Not important.”

“It was just supposed to be a business arrangement. Feelings didn’t have anything to do with it.”

“Nicky,” Alex sighs and sits next to him. “Sometimes you stupid.”

“What?”

“Nicky, didn’t marry you for passport.” On anyone else, that face would be bashful, but Alexander Ovechkin doesn’t do that, does he? “Married you because I wanted to. For long time.”

“You-- what?” That came out a lot more breathless than he likes.

“Always wanted, but didn’t think you wanted. But you said perfect things,” Alex smiles down at his hand, twisting his ring to catch the light. “And then you kissed me.”

“I did?”

Alex laughs, just a little. “Yeah. After whole bottle of champagne, but thought maybe you might want me, least little bit. Enough to try again when sober.” He glances at Nicky with a slight smirk. “Seemed to go okay.”

Damn his fair complexion for giving him away. The flush in his face could heat the room. “I didn’t -- I wasn’t keeping feelings from you at the beginning. I didn’t know, not until recently.”

Alex’s smile dims a bit. “Wasn’t anything before?”

“I think… I think it’s probably been there a long time. Maybe I just didn’t want to notice because I didn’t think I could have you.”

“So now…”

“So now I think we screwed up in reverse.”

Alex’s booming laugh was a sound he hadn’t realized he’d missed until he heard it again. He could pretend that doesn’t make him feel anything at all, but why bother? If kissing Alex once was enough to convince him to marry him, maybe a second time will convince him to continue being married to him….well, forever is probably a good start.

Alex responds enthusiastically, moaning a bit before pulling away. “C’mon, upstairs.”

Nicky trips over something on his way out of the room. He doesn’t look, because being dragged in the general direction of a bedroom by Alexander Ovechkin takes obvious priority. He also doesn’t hear Kris’s laughter from the phone he’s just kicked under the sofa.

(The next time Kris calls, he’ll say “I told you so!” three times and then laugh for two minutes before Nicky hangs up on him. Siblings.)

**Author's Note:**

> The [Fic Against Fascism](https://ficagainstfascism.wordpress.com/) fundraiser is still live, y'all! You could have a fic of your very own or a variety of other amazing fan art from some very talented people. In this season of gift giving, consider us for a friend who likes fan art and charities that help people! We have options starting as low as $5.


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